


In War, Some Return

by orphean



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Episode: s01e05 Choose Your Pain, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 04:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: ‘We need to do a full medical evaluation before you can go back on duty.’‘Will they want me back?’ Ash's hands were folded in his lap, his eyes staring at the middle distance. ‘Will they let me?’‘Of course,’ Hugh promised, aware that – depending on the results – perhaps they would not.





	In War, Some Return

‘Captain Lorca will be in the sickbay shortly,’ said a voice on the intercom. Hugh, a hand on Paul’s forehead, acknowledged the call, telling the transportation room operator that he was ready for him.

Paul seemed fine,  much _too_ fine considering what he had been through. He was cold and his hands were a little clammy, but it was nothing worse than the symptoms of a bad cold. Hugh leaned down and gave him a brief kiss on his forehead, before leaving him and closing the door to the observation room. He was mad at Paul — of course he was — but he was also very, very worried. He instructed the computer to monitor his vital signs and to keep him informed of any changes. Hugh washed his hands, looked at his reflection, called for the lights to be dimmed and waited for the captain to arrive.

When Gabriel Lorca arrived, he was not alone. He was half-carrying a young man, dark and dirty and tired. His eyes were darting around the room, boring into Hugh, darting away, searching for something, expecting to see something that was not there. Lorca, in comparison, looked well, if one disregarded a few cuts, bruises and a thin layer of grime.

‘This is Ash Tyler,’ Lorca said by way of greeting, kicking a chair and helping Tyler into it. ‘The Klingons left him with a little present.’

‘A present?’ Maybe it was the situation with Paul, maybe it was the exhaustion of all those double shifts and a chief medical officer who did not seem to appreciate it, but Hugh wasn’t quite sure what Lorca was talking about.

‘He got shot. You got anything sharp on you?’ Lorca was crouching, tugging off Tyler’s boots and only briefly glancing up at Hugh. ‘Those Klingons are filthy as hell.’

Hugh knelt next to him and found a pair of shears from his belt. He cut up the uniform leg and inspected the wound — shallow but surely painful. Tyler hissed when he probed it with his fingertips, testing for any signs of budding infection. He got up and rummaged in a drawer, finding the compress he was looking for.

‘Ash — it is Ash, right?’ he asked as he wrapped the compress around his leg. The lieutenant nodded and winced at the sudden pressure of the bandage. ‘My name is Hugh. This compress will help with the pain while you take a shower, and then we’ll fix you right up afterwards. Does that sound good?’

‘Yes, thank you, doctor.’ Tyler’s voice was strained even though the pain must have abated, as though he was expecting a new wave of injury. His eyes moved to Lorca, pausing for a moment. ‘And thank you, captain. Again.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ Lorca was on his feet again, offering a hand and smiling a smile that Hugh had always associated with a great white shark. ‘Do you need any help?’

Hugh left them and moved to the replicator and produced a set of civilian clothes. Paul always teased him for his ability to figure out his patients’ sizes with one look, telling him that he ought to be a tailor instead of a doctor. When he returned, Tyler was on his feet, Lorca’s hand on his left elbow, making sure he was staying upright.

‘Thank you, sir, but no. I should be fine.’ He ducked his head and touched his face, as though he was testing to see that he was really there. He looked up again and smiled, vulnerable, open and grateful. It was not a smile Hugh would expect Gabriel Lorca to receive. ‘Thank you, Captain.’

‘Any time, soldier.’ Lorca let go of his arm and took a step back. Hugh handed over the clothes and pointed him to the showers. Tyler walked away, but glanced back, eyes still wide, before he turned the corner. Hugh waited to speak until he heard the door close.

‘He was on the Klingon ship?’

‘Hmm? Yes, yes, he was.’ Lorca had walked over to one of the ship consoles, typing through a series of commands. Hugh wondered why he didn’t just talk to the computer, but when the screen loaded and the somewhat brighter and much happier face of Ash Tyler appeared, he understood. ‘I’ll be damned,’ Lorca muttered.

‘What?’ Hugh approached and looked at the military record, which at a first glance looked like every other military record he would look at. Then the captain pointed at the STATUS line. ‘Oh,’ said Hugh.

STATUS:  _ Lost in combat. Presumed dead. _

‘He told me he was at the Battle of the Binary Stars,’ Lorca explained, as he swiped through the rest of the file, pausing to read a section here and there. ‘USS  _ Yaeger _ . Captain Steven Maranville. Been on that bloody ship ever since.’

‘That was seven months ago,’ Hugh retorted. The fact of Tyler’ presence on the  _ Discovery  _ contradicted the one thing Hugh knew for certain about Klingon prisoners of war: they did not survive. ‘How is he still alive?’

Lorca raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and made a small  _ hm! _ sound. He was silent for a moment.

‘Tyler told me — how did he phrase it? — that the Klingon captain had “taken a liking” to him. Oh yes,’ Lorca smiled grimly when Hugh inhaled, ‘it means what you think it means.’

‘The poor kid,’ Hugh murmured, eyes fixed on nothing. This was the sort of case no doctor ever wanted to have to encounter.

‘Bitch,’ Lorca spat and it took a moment before Hugh realised he was talking about the Klingon captain, not him. The captain suddenly looked away from the screen and frowned. ‘What’s  _ he _ doing here?’

He was pointing at the observation room, where Paul could just about be glimpsed. Hugh wondered, not for the first time, what genius decided to make the medical walls out of glass.

‘Did Commander Saru not brief you?’

‘No, you have to clear me for duty first. What’s my super scientist doing in the sickbay, doctor?’

Hugh inhaled, swallowed and measured his words.

‘When you’re cleared for duty, Saru or, preferably, lieutenant Stamets himself will be able to explain everything. Until then, I’d recommend you go to your quarters.’

’You’re not going to clear me for duty?’ Lorca’s arms were crossed, his eyebrows raised. ‘I’m your captain. You  _ will  _ clear me for duty.’

‘I know that, sir, but you’ve brought in a young man who seems to be in much more dire need than you.’ Talking back to Lorca was difficult, and doing it without breaking eye contact was even harder.

‘I demand you clear me for duty so I can find out what’s been going on on  _ my ship _ .’ Lorca hissed the last words, eyes flashing.

‘I recommend a solid meal and a shower. I’ll call you when I’m ready for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient to tend to.’ Hugh was certain that if Paul had heard him, he would be proud of him, although he would have been more forceful still. Lorca stared at him for a moment, furious, before he exhaled.

‘Very well. Let me know as soon as you’re ready. And, if you would, brief me on how lieutenant Tyler is doing.’ A brief nod, and Lorca left the room.

Hugh called for the lights to be restored to the normal levels and closed lieutenant Tyler’s Starfleet records. He ordered a coffee (cream, one sweetener), a glass of water and a smoothie. He left the water and the smoothie on his desk and sipped the coffee as he checked on Paul, still sleeping. He was reading the daily war report when he heard the door to the changing rooms open. He watched Ash Tyler enter, gingerly putting weight on his wounded leg. The shower had done wonders — his hair seemed almost groomed, his face was just a little less haunted. His eyes, though, still darted around the room.

‘You don’t look bad for a dead man,’ Hugh smiled — wider than he usually would for a patient, hoping that the joke would put him at ease, and that it wouldn’t backfire. Tyler’s eyebrows met in a frown. ‘I’m doctor Hugh Culber. Lieutenant Ash Tyler?’

‘Yes. Yes.’ Tyler leaned against the wall, his eyes still shifting, looking for something. Someone. ‘Where’s the captain?’

‘In his quarters. Here, let’s get you to the biobed.’ The effect of the compress would be wearing off soon, and Hugh wanted to deal with the gunshot before the pain returned. He had a feeling he had enough pain as it is. ‘I’m alone here today, so I thought I’d begin with you, so you can go rest.’

Tyler made a non-committal sound and moved to the biobed. He sat on the edge, his toes just a couple of inches shy of touching the ground. ‘Is he okay? Captain Lorca?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Hugh promised. ‘Scoot up a bit. I need to take a look at that leg. How’s it feeling? Painful?’

‘Not too bad,’ Tyler admitted, inhaling sharply when Hugh touched him. He let out a shaky breath. ‘What was in the compress?’

‘It’s experimental. Pain relieving. Now, is it alright if I call you Ash?’ Hugh preferred to be friendly with his patients, hoping it would reassure them and make the experience less miserable. Ash nodded after a moment’s hesitation, not quite meeting his eye.

Hugh had pulled out his tricorder and verified that the gunshot was superficial. Satisfied with the results, he began his treatment. Ash’s muscles were tight under his fingers , his breathing fast. It dawned on Hugh that this anxiety was not just nerves about a doctor’s visit, and that it was his touch that was to blame. He began talking to him, explaining the ins and outs of the procedure, telling Ash that he was doing so well and that they were almost done, so if he could wait just a little longer. Hugh didn’t often talk like this, giving an ongoing narration of what he was doing, because it was a doctor persona Paul mocked mercilessly. Soon after they had started dating, Paul had broken his nose in a boxing match and Hugh, wanting to be helpful, offered to fix him up. Halfway through the procedure Paul had told him to stop his miserable commentary: Hugh was not a paediatrician, he was not a child, he did not need a blow-by-blow description of what was happening.  _ Please _ , he had said,  _ just shut up _ .  _ You’re distracting _ . That, really, was why Hugh was chattering away, giving Ash inconsequential details on the latest upgrade of the dermal regenerator. He was hoping to distract him.

‘Right, that’s us finished with your leg. Wasn’t too bad, was it?’ Ash gave a small shrug and still looked at a point somewhere close to Hugh’s ear.

‘Are we done?’ 

‘I’m afraid not,’ he could see the despair on Ash’s face, the furrow in his forehead. ‘We need to do a full medical evaluation before you can go back on duty.’

‘Will they want me back?’ His hands were folded in his lap, his eyes staring at the middle distance. ‘Will they let me?’

‘Of course,’ Hugh promised, aware that – depending on the results – perhaps they would not. Oh, how he hated lying. 

‘Do you think I can stay here?’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Hugh said, feeling the weight of the maybe-lie in his mouth. ‘The captain seemed quite taken with you. We just need to clear you for duty, and Captain Lorca will find a place for you.’

Ash said nothing for a moment, before he stood up, testing his full weight on the leg. Satisfied, he met Hugh’s gaze, a brief glance before scanning the room again, reassuring himself that he was truly somewhere safe. He did not see Paul. ‘Do what you need.’

There was something wrong with those words, something that Dr Ghent would spend hours dissecting in the psychiatric evaluation, but Hugh told himself not to dwell on it. It was better not to dwell on it. He returned to his desk, collected the smoothie and the glass of water and placed them on the table by the biobed.

‘First off: these are for you. Water. Smoothie.’ He pointed at each. Ash’s eyes darted – ever darting, ever moving – between the glasses and back to Hugh. After a few moments of silence, he wrapped his fingers around the water and downed it, keeping his eyes locked on Hugh. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,’ Hugh promised.

‘It’s very green,’ He replied, half-gesturing toward the smoothie.

‘It is.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘But it’s very healthy. Drink it slowly. Tell me if you start feeling nauseous or if you need anything else. I don’t want you to eat anything too heavy, but I’ll make sure you get some real food soon. More water?’

‘Not now,’ he shook his head and pushed his hair out of his eyes. His hair was overgrown, but not so long that it had gone uncut for seven months. His beard, a step or two beyond a stubble, was too short. Hugh wondered who had done it, trimmed his hair and shaved his face. He hoped they had been kind. He was certain they hadn’t been. Ash looked away, fixing on the charts on the wall, at anything that wasn’t Hugh. ‘So what do you need to do?’

‘First, let’s pull up your records. How’s the leg feeling?’ Ash shifted his head – yes, the leg was fine – and followed him the few steps to the main computer screen, bringing the untouched smoothie. Hugh could feel him watching him as he found him in the database and scanned through the relevant details of the file – his entrance medical exam, the quarterly check-ups, the appointment notes after early scrapes in the war, the final summary of his medical data. He didn’t look at the death certificate.

‘How –’ the lieutenant paused, licked his lips, and briefly looked at Hugh, ‘do they think I’m dead? Starfleet? How will you prove I’m not? That I’m me? That you can trust me?’ His voice was low and hesitant. He stared at the screen, full of near-perfect medical numbers that Hugh knew would not be replicated now.

‘What if I tell you about what we have to do before you can put on the uniform again? Sit back down, and we’ll go through it.’ Hugh smiled, the smile he reserved for the patients terrified of needles and blood, and Ash sat down on the biobed again, his fingers bending the straw of his drink, a nervous and unconscious movement. He listened, staring at the floor, as Hugh told him about what will happen: the preliminary tests today, the readings, the blood tests, and the physical examination; tomorrow, the psychiatric evaluation with the ship’s counselor; the steps he would go through with captain Lorca or commander Saru to prove that he was who he said he was. ‘It’s not that we don’t believe you, but there’s a war going on.’

When Hugh mentioned the war, Ash closed his eyes and stayed still for several seconds, drawing shallow breaths and clenching his free hand. When he opened his eyes again, he met Hugh’s gaze. He looked exhausted and Hugh wondered when the last time he had last had a full night’s sleep. He took a first sip of the smoothie and put it aside.

‘Go on, then.’ His back was hunched but his head was cocked, chin tilted upwards, a false bravado that Hugh was certain would trick the casual observer.

‘Right. Let’s begin with the readings.’ Hugh instructed Ash to lie down, to breathe in deeply, and to try to move as little as possible as the biobed processed the data – his weight, blood pressure, the scan of his body. The initial results were concerning, not alarming. He was too thin, but after seven months, that was not surprising. At the insistent  _ beep  _ of the biobed, Hugh told him he could sit up again. ‘Have some of your smoothie. Next up is the blood test. Tell me, Ash – are you afraid of blood?’

‘I’m used to blood,’ came the reply, and Hugh’s heart fell. Ash put out a hand, palm up and fingers splayed, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

‘Your records say you grew up in Washington,’ Hugh mentioned as he prepared the needle, stabilising the lieutenant’s hand in his palm. ‘I went there once as a teenager. It was beautiful. Such trees! And terribly,  _ terribly _ cold. It was July.’

Ash, eyes still closed, smiled at this, a hazy, hesitant smile. Hugh was happy to see it. He took that moment to prick his finger with the needle. After a momentary grimace, his face smoothed. It seemed practised, the way he washed off his discomfort, the way he hid his pain. He was pushing his bottom lip against his teeth and Hugh wondered if he knew if he was doing it, or if it was an unconscious coping mechanism. While he drew the blood he needed to take, Hugh kept talking about his visit to the northeast, telling him about the flora and fauna he had found so intriguing, and that he wanted to go back one day. He told him that between space and family and California Starfleet meetings, he just didn’t seem able to find the time. He mentioned, as he extracted the needle and Ash put his finger in his mouth, that his partner had apparently once gone mushroom hunting in Washington and after a week of finding nothing, he had sworn never to return to the state.

‘One day,’ Hugh concluded, ‘I want go there again.’ Placing the sample in the analyser, he smiled at Ash.

‘Why mushrooms?’ Tyler sipped his drink and pressed his fingers tightly together, although the flow of blood had stopped almost as soon as the needle was removed. 

‘Work – and, well, he’s really loves mushrooms. More than he loves me.’ Hugh made a face, one that he was certain Tilly would have called the  _ well you can’t help who you love _ -face. ‘That’s why I’m here, actually. He’s running experiments on the ship. I requested to be stationed with him, and they let me. So here I am.’

‘A mushroom scientist?’ Tyler looked doubtful. ‘Captain Lorca said his ship was one of the most important on the fleet. I don’t want to be rude, but – mushrooms don’t seem very important for the Federation.’ 

Hugh laughed, probably because he knew exactly how Paul would react, because he had seen it happen dozens of times. Someone would make a well-meaning comment about how studying mushrooms seemed very cosy but pretty useless. He would purse his lips, raise his eyebrows, and coldly explain that the science of  _ mushrooms  _ is more important than anything the person he was talking to had ever achieved in their entire life. Then he would smile far too wide and excuse himself for another gin and tonic. Hugh took a sip of his coffee as he looked at the medical screen, which was analysing the lieutenant’s blood for any pathogen he might have been exposed to, and he gave Ash another smile.

‘You’re not the first to say that. When he’s awake and back on his feet, I’m sure he’ll be happy to talk to you about it at great length.’ 

‘He’s not well?’ there was genuine concern in Ash’s voice, such worry for a man he had never met. He stood up, putting away the smoothie and pulling at his sleeves. ‘I can leave. I can – I can come back later. You should take care of him.’

‘No, you’re–’ and Hugh ran a hand through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, ‘you’re the priority, and he’s stable, and he’ll be fine.’ He sounded more confident than he was, because perhaps Paul  _ wouldn’t  _ be fine, and perhaps Hugh was going to have to suffer through this hell of a war alone and – no. No. Breathe and focus. Hugh inhaled and smiled at Ash, a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless. The analyser beeped and Hugh sighed with relief. His blood values were within acceptable ranges, but on the low end, and there were no traces of any disease. ‘Your bloodwork’s good. How are you feeling, Ash?’

He stayed quiet, measuring his words.

‘Tired,’ he admitted finally. He bowed his head and touched his face again, then looked up and smiled weakly. ‘I am very tired.’

‘Do you want a moment? We still have some tests we need to do, but if you want to take a couple of minutes, I don’t mind it.’ Maybe it was providence, or maybe it was chance, but as he said this, he heard, from the observation room where Paul was sleeping, the soft buzzing sound of the computer, alerting him that Paul was waking up. Ash noticed the sound and looked around, suppressed terror playing behind his eyes. ‘It’s just the computer. Do you want some water before I disappear for – oh – less than five minutes.’

Ash insisted that he was fine with his smoothie and said, again, that he could return later if his presence was an inconvenience, that he really didn’t want to make Hugh stay as late as he already had. Hugh extracted a promise that he wouldn’t try to sneak out while he was away before he left him on the biobed and went to Paul. He was still not quite awake, his eyelids fluttering as he hovered between sleep and wakefulness. Hugh marvelled, as he always did, at the white of his eyelashes and the intelligence in his face, even in this state of unconsciousness. Paul’s eyes slowly drifted open and he smiled lazily, scrunching up his nose in delight.

‘Good morning, tiger,’ he drawled, tipping his head back for a kiss. Hugh stroked his hair.

‘How are you feeling?’ Paul smiled and closed his eyes again. ‘Top of the world. I feel like I’ve slept for days. Did you drug me?’

He sat up, catching Hugh’s uniform with his fingers and pulling him closer. Paul was leaning up for a kiss when Hugh placed his hand, palm out, square on his chest and shook his head.

‘No. Not at work. That’s  _ your  _ rule.’ Hugh rolled his eyes, the face of a teenager faced with an adult using outdated slang. ‘I didn’t drug you. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you remember what happened? What you did?’

‘I saved the ship, didn’t I? I think that deserves a kiss.’ Hugh moved his head, just slightly, nodding towards the window, where Ash could be seen, poking at his drink with the straw, his eyes kept low. Paul made a sound, frowning as he looked past Hugh. ‘Who’s that?’

‘That’s lieutenant Ash Tyler,’ Hugh replied, ‘Captain Lorca brought him back.

‘So the captain survived, then?’ there was a note of disappointment in Paul’s voice, and Hugh was almost relieved, because the cheerfulness he had displayed until then was concerningly unfamiliar to him. ‘So the kid was on the Klingon ship? Is he okay?’

‘You know I can’t talk to you about that,’ Hugh was scanning Paul. For someone who almost died a couple of hours earlier, these values did not make sense. There was no evidence of any brain trauma, foreign substances being in his body – if one disregarded the new genetic information in his DNA. He was _fine_. ‘The numbers check out. You seem to be okay. I’ll let you go, but you can’t work. You go home and read one of those awful romance novels you love. No work, okay?’

‘No work, I get it. I’m not stupid. I’m a genius, remember?’ Paul got off the biobed, rolling his head. ‘What time is it? When are you coming home?’

‘It’s evening. 2100 hours. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I need to finish this, and I need to fob off Lorca with excuses why I can’t clear him for duty today.’ Hugh rubbed his eyes. He looked Paul up and down, who was stepping from foot to foot in the standard Starfleet patient robes. ‘You should probably get dressed before you leave.’

Hugh replicated him a set of pyjamas –  _ red, please!  _ Paul called after him – and reviewed the last of Tyler’s biobed information that had processed while Hugh had been gone. The only new issue he had to look at now, that didn’t have to dealt with over days and weeks and months of a careful diet and regular doctor’s visits, was an wrist fracture that had not quite healed. He looked up as and saw Paul approached Ash, introducing himself with an excited fervour, all grins and excitement. Ash looked taken aback but was polite and quietly engaged in their brief conversation. Hugh wondered how Paul seemed to him, bright-eyed and wearing regulation pyjamas without shoes, chatting about that he has landed on the best ship in the fleet, with the best crew one could imagine and the best doctor and so on. Hugh was surprised at this compliment, with Paul only complimenting Hugh on rare occasions, and never in front of other people. He activated the medical scanner as he approached.

‘Lieutenant Stamets, that’s enough. You’re free to go. Remember: no work.’ 

Paul clicked his heels – as well as he could without wearing shoes  – and smiled brightly at Hugh before he left. It was a rare smile, bright and open and happy, and it was very difficult for him not to walk over and kiss him right then. It was a smile that made Hugh desperate to be done with the day. When Paul had left, Hugh turned back to Ash, suddenly awkward for a stranger to see even a glimpse of his personal life.

‘He’s usually a lot more – reticent than that.’

‘That’s the mushroom man?’ Ash had finished his drink and was folding the straw over and over with nervous fingers. 

‘It is. How is your hand?’ The lieutenant looked nonplussed. ‘Your left hand was broken. It must have hurt.’ Ash admitted, as Hugh moved the protoplaser over his wrist, that it was just another thing he had gotten used to. Hugh didn’t ask how it had happened, or who had caused it, because he didn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary right then. There would be the psychiatric evaluations, and hours upon hours of counselling. For now, he wanted to spare him that. When he had finished, Ash carefully moved his hand, eyebrows creased, expecting pain. ‘All better.’

‘Thank you.’ His eyes were fixed on the ground, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. He seemed very tired.

‘We can be done for today, if you’d like. We can finish up tomorrow.’ Just suggesting this broke half-a-dozen regulations, but Hugh doubted anyone would care. Seeing Paul and his bright grin, seeing the sheer life in that body that had almost failed him so recently, all made Hugh homesick for their snug quarters on Deck 4 and desperate to see Paul without the fear of anyone seeing and judging them. Ash’s eyebrows were furrowed, his face skeptical. Being let off the hook, even for a night, seemed a foreign concept. ‘We can pick up in the morning, really. I think we can both use some rest.’

‘Will I stay in the brig?’ Ash’s voice was firm but low, resigned to his fate. Hugh promised that he wouldn’t stay in the bridge, that there would be quarters already assigned for him. Of course, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the quarters without an escort, and someone from security would accompany him there and bring him some food. In the morning, he would have to return to finish his physical evaluation, which would be followed by the psychiatric evaluation. Hugh smiled crookedly and apologised that there was so little freedom at this point. Ash shrugged, his voice sharp. ‘There’s a war on. It’s fine.’

Hugh called for a security detail and pulled out a small notebook and a pencil. Paul always teased him for this old-fashioned quirk of his, a love for writing on paper. He wrote, in long looping numbers and letters, the communication code to his quarters.

‘If you need anything,’ he said, handing the paper to Ash, who accepted it with a questioning look on his face. ‘Tonight, or later. That’ll get you through to my quarters. No, really.’ Ash had started protesting. Hugh raised a hand to silence him. ‘If you need anything, or need to talk to someone, please. Call me.’

‘If you insist, doctor.’ Ash smiled, embarrassed, and pocketed the paper slip.

The security officer showed up a few minutes later, introducing herself and going over the same information that Hugh had provided before. Tyler listened politely, arms crossed and gaze firm.

‘Is there anything you need from mister Tyler, sir?’ the security officer addressed Hugh, hands folded behind her back, perfect poise and attention. It bothered him that she hadn’t referred to Ash by his rank. After only a short time with him, without any real conversation, Hugh already knew he deserved his rank, more than many fellow officers he had met.

‘No, ensign. I’ll leave him in your capable hands.’ He turned to Ash, hand outstretched. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, and let me know if I can help in any way. I look forward to serving with you, lieutenant Tyler.’

Tyler accepted the hand and gave a firm, solid handshake. He smiled, eyes crinkling behind his too-long hair.

‘So do I, doctor. I’ll see you in the morning.’

He left, followed by the security officer, glancing back as the doors closed. For a beat, Hugh stayed still, admiring the brave and broken man who fell out of the sky. Then, eager to leave, he finished the work for the night, the paperwork for Tyler and the paperwork for Hugh. He left a message to Lorca that he wouldn’t be able to see him until the morning. The captain would be mad, of course, but Hugh prayed that the few hours he kept him from the command chair would not alter the course of the war. Turning the lights off, he left work and walked, quick and quicker, back home.

With the door to their quarters barely shut, Hugh took Paul’s face in his hands and kissed him, telling him never to be that stupid again. Later, wrapped up in Paul’s arms, Hugh buried his nose in the dip of his throat, grateful that, despite everything, they were healthy, happy and – most importantly – together.


End file.
